


if the hills fall, I will rally to you

by authoressjean



Series: the changed future [19]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Arranged Marriages, BAMF!Bilbo, BAMF!Thorin, Gen, bamf!Legolas, determined family who you should not mess with, no really Dain that wasn't a good idea, of course there's angst why do I even bother at this point, okay there's a lot of bamfs in this fic, plotty mcplot, slight xenophobia, this was supposed to be a one-shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 08:00:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1117453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authoressjean/pseuds/authoressjean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post 'the sun will warm our hearts and souls'.</p>
<p>Dain arrives in Erebor, and brings with him more than just ridiculous demands: he brings with him a strong will that may, in the end, tear apart a family. Especially when he aims his sights on those in Erebor who aren't dwarves.</p>
<p>What he doesn't know is that the ones he's ready to climb over for his ambition won't be bent easily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rifting

**Author's Note:**

> So this was supposed to be a one-shot. HA. I really should stop trying to make word count limits on myself. It's hilarious, really it is.
> 
> I did my best with Dain. He's a very strong character in Tolkien's mythology, one who was fearless in battle and very, very determined. That makes me think of him as rash and impulsive, though that was obviously curbed when he became king of Erebor, after Thorin's canonical death.
> 
> Well, Thorin isn't dead. Which means Dain's entire character has to be shifted. Here's hoping I portrayed him the way I wanted to.
> 
> Also, this fic satisfies a bit of a prompt from one of my readers, AJ, who was looking for Legolas angst and a bit of hurt/comfort. Hope you enjoy, sweetie!

The mountain was covered in the brightest of colors, half with Erebor’s symbol, half with that of the Iron Hills. Banners blew with the welcome breeze from the summer heat, and Kili was just glad he was above the gates instead of down below with the others. The heat was worse down there. Of all the times of the year for Dain to pick as his visit, this had to be the worst month.

Kili could’ve just stopped his thoughts at “Dain visiting” as the worst time of anything, but he’d kept his tongue so far, and he’d keep doing it.

A presence by his side made him turn to find Hril standing at attention. “Anything?” Kili asked.

“Raven came: they’ll be here today,” Hril told him. “Most I’ve heard. Tauriel and Legolas haven’t seen anythin’ yet, and I’d trust their eyes more than my own.”

Kili too. Even now, he wondered where his husband was: Legolas was supposed to be here to help him watch for Dain’s arrival. The eyes of the elves would forever be better than his.

Even as he thought it, another presence was at his side, and he grinned without looking. “You’re late,” he said.

Legolas chuckled. “I am not late. You were simply early.”

“We agreed to meet up here after breakfast. It’s almost lunch.”

“Still technically after breakfast.”

“Oh, well in _that_ case,” Kili began, and then Legolas was pulling him into a quick kiss. Half to silence him, Kili was certain about that, but half to simply kiss him. Kili wasn’t going to complain, either way. Not when it meant he could steal a moment with his husband.

Legolas broke away suddenly to gaze out onto the field, leaving Kili all but pouting. “Really, that’s how you quit?” Kili muttered.

“They approach from the east,” Legolas said. Kili squinted to the left, trying to see what Legolas was seeing. All he saw was the side of the mountain and the empty fields and hills. “Can you not see them?”

“Oh, I see them now,” Hril said, startling Kili. With even more determination he searched, but nothing so much as moved. Were they that far away?

“Where?” Kili asked. Legolas could see them, that he understood, but for Hril to be able to see them left him feeling a bit put out. His eyes were good, by Mahal, he was an archer, he was supposed to have the best eyes of them all-

And then he registered the smirk under Hril’s bushy beard and the twinkle in his husband’s eyes. “You’re both horrible people,” Kili said firmly. “I’m the worst of us all, because I actually _believed_ you.”

“I can actually see them,” Legolas said. He slid a finger down Kili’s nose, his way of teasing, and Kili did his best to not grin. “They are far off, though. Another half an hour, at the least. They ride on ponies, not horses.”

“I can’t see them,” Hril admitted. “But it was nice to see your face get all flustered.”

“Traitors,” Kili muttered, but it was hard to mind all that much when Legolas wrapped an arm around him and pressed the softest of kisses to his ear. Even if Hril was chuckling at his expense. The brute.

They stayed atop the gates until finally Kili could see the entourage for himself – and Hril couldn’t, which made the moment that much sweeter – and both of his uncles were calling for him to come down. So Kili went, Legolas by his side, and Hril also came down to stand opposite his cousin. A strong and undivided force, united against whatever Dain was planning. He’d called the meeting, so it was “his coin” as Bilbo was fond of saying. That didn’t mean that they wouldn’t give Thorin the best advantage they could.

Because whatever Dain was up to, Kili had the feeling it wasn’t going to end well.

Then it didn’t matter anymore because Dain was there, along with quite the entourage. He was smiling and slid from his pony with a hearty chuckle, moving to embrace Thorin. “It is good to see you cousin,” he greeted. Thorin carefully returned the embrace with a quick smile befitting his rank and station. It was funny, Kili thought, because Thorin was one of the most kind and tactile dwarves that he knew. He hadn’t been, for a long time, at least not in public. Bilbo had sort of changed that. Bilbo had changed a lot of things.

Even now, Dain was turning to where Bilbo stood, directly on Thorin’s right. “You must be the great and mighty Bilbo Baggins,” he said, still with that wide smile on his face. “I’ve heard a great many things about you.”

“The last thing he heard was Bilbo being kidnapped,” Fili muttered in Kili’s ear, startling him. He scowled back at his brother, who had come with Dernwyn in tow. “It’s true.”

“I know it’s true, but next time, give me some warning! Don’t just sneak up on me!”

“Shh,” Dernwyn scolded under her breath, and both of them subsided.

Bilbo gave Dain a formal nod of his head. “I’m pleased to put a face to a name at long last,” he said, his smile soft and genuine, as far as Kili could tell. “And I’m especially glad to have you here, in Erebor. If it hadn’t been for you, we could have won the war against Sauron and not had anything to return home to. It’s only right that you come see how it’s changed since you saw it last.”

Politically perfect to the last. Dwalin was swallowing back a grin, and Thorin’s smile finally bloomed when he looked at his husband. Bilbo gave nothing away, merely kept smiling at Dain.

Dain’s own smile fell a little at having nothing really to reply with, but when it returned, the grin was rueful. “You’re very kind,” Dain told him. “And I see now that the stories I’ve heard about you are very true.”

His entourage began disembarking from their ponies, and Dain moved his attentions elsewhere. His eyes landed on Fili and Kili, and he visibly perked up. “The young heirs themselves,” he said. “Fili I’ve had the pleasure of meeting, but Kili I have not. It is good to see you both here.”

“And we’re glad to have you here,” Fili said, standing straighter at attention. Kili did the same out of instinct. “Welcome to Erebor, cousin. Allow me to introduce you to more of our kin and family. This is my wife, the Princess Dernwyn.” Dernwyn gave a low nod with a half bow to Dain. Dain gave her a quick nod of his head in return – not quite the formal return that she deserved, but it was close enough.

“And this is my husband, Legolas of Greenwood,” Kili said. Legolas stepped forward and executed a perfect bow, far more than he needed to give to Dain. It was still quite the show of respect, however, and perfect for the situation. Kili grinned, unable to help himself.

“My greetings to you, Lord Dain,” Legolas said, rising with a smile. “Long have we looked forward to your arrival.”

“Smooth as Bilbo,” Fili muttered in Kili’s ear. Well, this would go more smoothly, with both Legolas and Bilbo there to keep the peace.

Dain’s smile twisted into a quick grimace, but he did bow back. Dwalin’s hand got a little tighter on his blade. “Well met, son of Thranduil,” he said, and Kili felt his husband go tense beside him, though he certainly didn’t let it show. Thorin’s tension was much more palpable, and the uncomfortable awkwardness that descended on the group left Kili itching to be anywhere else.

One of the dwarves from the entourage coughed, breaking the silence. “We had been informed that there was another…elf? Will they be part of the negotiations?”

Bilbo spoke up before Kili could. “Tauriel is a valued part of the Guard and a loyal friend of Erebor. She is vital to the kingdom, so yes, she will be there.”

“And I will have to admit to being lost in regards to what we’re negotiating,” Thorin said, staring at Dain long and hard. Dain met his gaze for a moment before he was forced to turn away.

“Ah, yes, all will be explained, your majesty,” another dwarf from the entourage said. “If it’s not too much trouble, however, the heat from outside is unbearable. Could we move into the cooler depths?”

As an answer, Dwalin extended his arm towards the hallways beyond. Legolas quickly shifted out of the way when the dwarves marched through, and though he didn’t seem disturbed, Kili certainly was. He took his husband’s hand in his and squeezed it tightly. Legolas held back, and he even managed a quick smile. Kili forced himself to take a deep breath before he followed after Dain.

Whatever the next few days held, he knew it wasn’t going to end well.

 

“I do not like him.”

Legolas said nothing. Still keeping her narrowed gaze on the dwarves at the table, Tauriel tried again. “You cannot possibly trust him,” she said. “He has done nothing except make the lives of Thorin, of Bilbo, of Fili and Kili, difficult. Dwalin, too, is more tense, and Dain is partially his kin. How you can stand here so _calm_ -“

“Because I must,” Legolas said, his voice quiet but firm. His gaze never wavered from his peaceful poise. “Because I fear what Dain might do to the Line of Durin here in Erebor if I do not.”

Tauriel stilled. “Do you think one a traitor?” she asked. “Do you think one of them would turn?”

“Perhaps. But I fear more of a revolution, a chance to continue what Dekir and Rutar tried to do.”

If the dwarves at the table had been able to understand what they were saying, perhaps they would have been insulted. It was why Tauriel had turned to her native tongue, one she knew very few understood. She had helped Legolas teach Thorin more than simple conversational Sindarin, through the years, and Bilbo as well. Kili had fast picked up on it, and Fili had managed a few simple sentences before leaving it to his brother. Thorin was not as well versed in it as Bilbo, who spoke it almost as a second dialect, now. Yet Thorin had still reached out, still tried to meet them with their language, and the very act had earned him more of Tauriel’s respect.

She would not see him abandoned now. Even if Legolas and Tauriel were targets, she would not abandon him now.

They had chosen to stand along the wall, offering seats of honor to the dwarves who were visiting. They had gotten a few nods of recognition for it, then had been all but forgotten. A few had side-eyed Bilbo when he’d taken the seat of power beside Thorin, but no one had commented, and most of them had ignored him after that unless he spoke. Bilbo truly had not mattered in the meeting, however.

No, it had come down to Thorin at one end of the table and Dain at the other, and everyone knew that their own presence was merely a political convenience, to ensure that only words, and not blades, were thrown. And it was that fact that made Tauriel so nervous.

Of Erebor, only Thorin, Bilbo, Fili, Kili, Legolas, Tauriel, and Dwalin had been allowed entrance. Dain had nine advisors by his side, clearly giving him the larger advantage when it came to how many people were gathered around the table. For a brief moment, Tauriel wished Dis was there. Dis had politely declined, saying she needed her strength for “the second round” of debating. She wished with all her might that she was there: with Dis, Tauriel had a feeling that the meeting would end swiftly. It was probably why Thorin had agreed to her coming at a later time.

She also wished Gimli had been allowed to enter, but at the same time, she was grateful that he had been spared this meeting. She had a feeling that Dain was on the prowl, ready to strike, and she wanted those whom she cared for to be as far from his claws as they could be. Legolas had been necessary for the meeting, but Gimli had not been.

And if she missed his company, that was her business and no one else’s.

“Couldn’t they get on with it?” Kili muttered in Sindarin from in front of them. Tauriel smirked as a few of the dwarves showed obvious confusion at the dialect coming from one of Erebor’s heirs. So far, the talk of the table had been about the crops around Erebor, around the Iron Hills, the population and the travel between both kingdoms. Tauriel knew what it was: table chatter. These words truly had no real merit to what they’d come for. It was simply a warming up for the true debate.

Dain took a sip of his wine and set the goblet down, and Tauriel stood straighter. This was most certainly it. Thorin, too, seemed tense, waiting for the verbal sparring to begin.

“My King and cousin, you have been nothing but generous with your time, your kingdom, and your fine wine,” Dain said, and there was a general approval from around the long table. “I thank you for your hospitality: there is no better place for negotiations than here, in Erebor, the _greatest_ dwarf kingdom in all of Middle-Earth.”

There was something bitter in the way he said ‘greatest’, one that made Tauriel want to pull an arrow at him.

“I wonder that you need the term ‘negotiations’ at all, cousin, when ‘agreements’ would suit us better,” Thorin said, both as an invitation and a warning. Tauriel gave a brief nod of approval at the word choice and waited.

Dain shrugged. “It would, usually. But these are not usual times.”

“We prefer unusual times,” Bilbo said smoothly. “So feel free to speak openly with us. You are among kin.”

Ever tactful, ever allowing Dain to speak, yet pinning his own words all the more upon him. Hobbits, Tauriel was quickly discovering, were mild-mannered creatures until you put a sword in their hand or a political situation at their feet. Then they were vicious, yet still subtle about it. She quite approved of it.

“Not entirely,” Dain said, and he raised his long stare from Bilbo to Legolas and Tauriel. Legolas remained ever poised and calm beside her, but she could feel it now, the thrum of tension coursing through his being. She felt as if she were a bow string pulled to its limits, waiting for the release of the arrow or the snap as she broke.

Thorin, apparently, was quite through with Dain’s backwards attempt to say his mind, and carefully put both hands on the table before him. “Speak plainly, cousin. You are not one to dally.”

“I have a daughter,” Dain said immediately. “One of marriageable age. There are many young maidens yet to be married, and I will encourage them to come here and make a home for themselves in Erebor. For the Iron Hills do not have the suitable means with which to raise a family, not anymore. I would have our two kingdoms allied.”

“There are several dwarves in Erebor of nobility,” Fili said, when no one else could seem to find words. “Several of our company have not been wed, and I know they would be honored to find a wife with someone as esteemed as your daughter.” Bilbo, surprisingly, was the one who jerked a little at Fili’s words, and Tauriel put the thought in the back of her mind for later.

Dain was already shaking his head. “No, not nobility, young prince. For a woman must always marry higher than her station. And one must always look for kin, as his majesty Bilbo Baggins stated so well not a few minutes ago. So I have come, as her father, to ask to pledge her hand to your youngest heir.”

Legolas went so still Tauriel wondered if he was still breathing. Thorin was gripping the table hard enough to leave grooves in the wood, and Bilbo quickly stood to take control of the situation. “Our youngest heir is only a few years old,” he pointed out. “Baldrin is most certainly _not_ of any marriageable age. Holdred is not quite twelve. Also not anywhere close to an age to discuss a wedding.”

“An arranged marriage,” one of the dwarves said, speaking for the first time. He fiddled with his tri-braided beard a little nervously. “Which is a very common thing.”

“Not here,” Bilbo said firmly. There was an edge of anger in his voice that he seemed desperately trying to control, if the way his toes kept curling was any indication. It surprised Tauriel, given that she knew her soul sister, Esmeralda, had been arranged to marry Saradoc. What was Bilbo’s objection?

“Certainly hobbits have arranged marriages-“

“Not with _children_ who are too young to speak for themselves.”

That made more sense. “Of course I would never arrange a life for a mere child,” Dain said, and he looked as if Bilbo had given him the keys to the very kingdom. “No, I speak instead for your adult heirs, who sit at this very table.”

“Both of whom are wed,” Dwalin said from the door, as if unable to help himself anymore. Tauriel approved.

“And one of whom has _children_ ,” Bilbo pointed out. “Or are their marriages considered unworthy, in your eyes? Because if you consider their marriages so easily voided, I could not possibly wonder what kind of marriage you would hope to gift to your daughter. Not one of any merit or longevity, I imagine.”

His words were even but sharp, and Dain looked as if he’d been stabbed with his own sword. Yes, Dain was most likely regretting asking Bilbo to be in the ‘negotiations’. Thorin’s grip on the table was starting to relax, Bilbo’s words having been enough to leave him breathing a little easier.

But Dain was not finished. “I would want to gift my daughter the greatest marriage a father could give his child,” he said, standing. “One filled with prosperity to one of her own kind. Obviously I would not wish to separate a father from his children, even if they are of a human and dwarf blood. But there is a marriage here that does not offer forward any child, and is not between two dwarves.”

“And what of my marriage, Dain?” Thorin said, deliberately misinterpreting his cousin’s words to keep him from Kili and Legolas for a moment more. It was also an excellent reminder that Thorin’s marriage to Bilbo _did_ fit in the category Dain had named.

Dain’s face lost a bit of its color, much to Tauriel’s satisfaction. “Well, _cousin_?” Thorin asked.

“You know very well that I’m not speaking of your own marriage,” Dain snapped. “I wouldn’t cross you-“

“You’ve already crossed me,” Thorin said, his voice low and dangerous. “And you continue to do so.”

“Kili should not be married to an _elf_!” Dain shouted, and there it was, laid out before them all. Tauriel felt her hands tightening into fists. “Not even any elf, but the son of your _enemy_!”

“That is _my husband_ you are devaluing,” Kili said, also rising to his feet. He sounded more dangerous than Tauriel had ever heard him sound before. “Be cautious of what you say.”

“Yet he won’t speak up for himself,” Dain said. He snorted contemptuously in Legolas’s direction. “What political aid, what wealth, can one such as he offer you?”

Thorin did not glance back at them, but he and Bilbo both stepped a little to the sides, making enough physical room for another being. The offer was clear, and Legolas took it, though he remained where he was. “Erebor has the whole of the Greenwood at its fingertips, at any time it so desires it,” Legolas said. “If it is wealth that you wish to ‘aid’ Erebor with, you would not find a better gift than that of food, of wood, of safe traveling paths between Erebor and Moria. That, he was given freely, even before Kili and I were wed by Thorin’s hand.”

A careful reminder that their wedding had been blessed by Dain’s cousin himself. Tauriel held her tongue, if just because Legolas had made the better political move. She had a feeling it was why Dwalin was back to holding his tongue as well. The two of them could be equally as political, if they desired. They just…did not desire to do so.

Gimli would not have even tried to be political, and it made her lips turn up at the thought.

“Can they offer wealth in terms of mithril?” Dain said, and Thorin stared.

“You have no mithril.”

“I do. We discovered mines of it, more than you could ever desire. We also have a direct trade set to reach the eastern sea. You are land-locked, and very far from the Sea of Rhûn. We have begun building outposts there, and I would offer you the very best of what we bring back. The Iron Hills will soon be the wealthiest dwarven kingdom, in both mithril and sea fare such as food and pearls. Things you do not have.”

They had mithril. The mines of Moria were filled with them. It was simply taking time to mine them, as the mines had not been fully stocked with dwarves yet. The sea, however, was the only true temptation. Yet they had rivers, rivers which flowed directly through the Greenwood. They did not need the sea.

“I will not disavow Kili and Legolas’s marriage,” Thorin said firmly. “Legolas is kin, and has been for many years. It was he who stood by my side when I faced the Black Gate, it was he who nearly died saving Kili’s life three years ago. He is more valuable an ally and kin than you could imagine.” _More than you,_ went unspoken, but Dain’s face still hardened all the same. The message had been clear.

“Then you leave Erebor in the hands of an _elf_.”

Legolas spoke again. “The throne will never be in my hands. It will go to Fili, then Fili’s children.”

“And we’re supposed to believe that Kili will never want the throne?” another dwarf said, bushy gold eyebrows raised.

“I have a throne,” Kili said, his eyes locked on Dain. “In Greenwood, beside my _husband_. My place here will one day be as an advisor to my brother. I have never held a want for the throne myself. It will go to Holdred, as it should.”

“Yet an elf still stands in line for the throne,” Dain argued. “If Erebor were attacked, and only he and Fili’s children remained, how easy would it be for him to dispose of them and seize the throne?”

“ _Dispose_ of them?” Tauriel burst out, seething and unable to hold herself back any longer, but Legolas spoke above her.

“Fili and Dernwyn’s children are my nephews and my niece. I would give my own life before I saw _any_ of them brought to harm. I tell you again, I do not _want_ the throne of Erebor. It goes to my kin nephew-”

“They are not your kin!” Dain thundered. “Your own kin left you here behind! You are an orphan, you are abandoned! You have no place here!”

Legolas looked as if he had been slapped. Silence fell on the room like a great fog, heavy and dense and so oppressive it hurt to breathe. Tauriel felt as if she could not find air in her lungs to think, let alone to breathe. Her mind spun, unable to decide what it was she needed to do first, so outraged was she.

The choice was taken from her hands when Legolas gave a stilted bow to the table and promptly left the room. Kili made no such bow and took off after him. He would be of greater comfort to Legolas now than Tauriel would. Besides, she still had Dain’s face to carve.

Dain, for his part, looked a tad stunned at his own words, as if they had flooded from his mouth without his permission. When he glanced across the table and saw Thorin glaring furiously at him, he swallowed and began to speak. “Cousin-“

“Thorin, go,” Bilbo said lowly, and Thorin gave a curt nod. Then he was also heading for the door, which Dwalin held open for him before promptly shutting it behind him.

Bilbo rose to his full height, and somehow it seemed almost taller than even Tauriel, and in his eyes was a dangerous gleam. “Until such a time that you can find a civil tongue in your head to actively acknowledge _all_ the members of the royal family with the dignity, loyalty, and simple _decency_ that they deserve, this meeting will be adjourned. I can assure you all, however, that Thorin Oakenshield does not appreciate or approve of those who make blatant attacks upon his kin.” He pinned Dain with his gaze, and Dain looked hard pressed to not step backwards. “I have seen Thorin take swift action against those who would threaten his kin, and it is typically merciless and final.”

It could not have been a clearer line drawn unless Bilbo had physically painted a line on the table between them. It was not Dain that Thorin was determined to protect. It was not Dain that was being considered kin. It was Legolas. And Bilbo was making that infinitely clear.

Never before had Tauriel been so grateful to know Bilbo, to call him kin of her own. She wondered what Esmeralda would have done, or said, had the little hobbit been there. She probably would have thrown her own words at Dain without any pause and left his head reeling. The thought made Tauriel cheerful, despite the fact that her prince was wandering through Erebor, probably already headed for the Greenwood. She could only hope that Kili would find him first.


	2. Torn asunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hurts are soothed, stands are made. Dain finally comes forward with his real wants and desires.
> 
> The final choice may end in heartbreak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun DUN.
> 
> Okay, so you all absolutely loathe Dain now. Got it. Here's hoping that this next chapter will offer a bit more into why Dain did what he did. Kudos to y'all for sensing something else was up with Dain!
> 
> Also, really long chapter is really long.

There were so few dwarves, down in the meeting halls, especially this late in the afternoon. It made the run for the surface that much easier, without his having to pause at every moment to avoid running into someone. And right now, all he wanted was the open breeze upon his face and the sanctuary he could not find within these walls.

_Orphan, abandoned._

His breath was coming in harsh pants, and already he could feel the pull for the sharp breath of fresh air, the forest, _his_ forest, he needed to get out-

He was three more steps down the hall when he pulled himself up short. He thought of the forest, his green trees and the memories of Kili there with him, laughing with the babbling brook, wandering the halls of his father’s kingdom. Striking down spiders beside Gimli and Tauriel, bringing the forest back to life by removing the deadened limbs that held back the sun.

He had always retreated to the forest, when he could no longer stay within the mountain. But this time, it felt less like a choice. This was a forced retreat, and it made him straighten his back. No. He would _not_ leave. Erebor had become a home, _his_ home. And he would not leave it because Dain and his dwarves wanted him to go.

Hurried footsteps were heard behind him, and when he turned, Kili was rounding the corner. “Legolas-!”

Legolas caught him before they both collided. Kili was gasping for air, the flush in his cheeks the most telling of how quickly he’d run. “I wanted to catch you, before you left,” Kili said, and there was no recrimination, only understanding. “I didn’t think I would, though.”

Legolas swallowed. “I’m not leaving,” he said quietly.

Kili blinked. “What?”

“I’m not leaving. I’m staying.”

Not that Legolas would ever tell him, but Kili’s face was most adorable when he wrinkled it up in confusion. “But it’s your forest, your place of comfort. It’s your solitude.”

“Not right now. If I went now, it would be because I was forced from Erebor.”

Kili made a face. “You are _not_ being forced from Erebor. It’s your home more than any of theirs! You belong here, not them!”

As truthful as he knew the words were, it was still a relief for Legolas to hear them. “I know,” Legolas said, hoping to soothe his husband’s ire. Kili still looked ready to strangle someone, all for Legolas, and he reached out and brushed Kili’s marriage braid back over his ear. “I know. It’s why I will stay. I have to.”

It did not mean the words hurt any less, nor did their truth. For Legolas had been abandoned, orphaned by the only parent he had had left. His kin had all left to go over the sea, and given him only Tauriel as a comfort, as a messenger. He would be forever grateful for her friendship, her loyalty to him. It still did not remove the sting of being discarded, only dulled its pain. His last memory of his father would forever be Thranduil turning his head away when Legolas said he would go to Lorien as an ambassador. Thirteen years was such a pittance, in an elf’s life, yet he felt each one keenly.

“Legolas,” Kili murmured, sounding distraught, and then his husband was gathering him into his arms. Legolas clung back, suddenly needing the touch, the comfort, of one who loved him. His father had loved him, and he knew it. Yet Thranduil was no longer here. He wondered if his father ever thought of him, over in the lands of Aman.

“Legolas.”

Legolas raised his head and found Thorin standing there, right behind Kili. “Uncle?” Kili asked, sounding as perplexed as Legolas felt. “What are you doing here?”

“Ensuring both of my sons are well,” Thorin said. His eyes narrowed. “If I had not left, blood would have been shed. Your uncle nudged me to the door, so I have left him to handle it.”

Legolas almost felt sorry for the dwarves. A furious hobbit was not anything to fuss with. And a furious Bilbo Baggins was certainly not one to cross.

Thorin stepped forward, and despite Legolas having to gaze down at the dwarf, he still felt so very small. “Legolas,” Thorin said quietly, and Legolas knelt to embrace him. Thorin’s arms were wide and thick, muscle and kingly leather, but his grip was solid and kind. He ran his hand down Legolas’s hair, murmuring something softly, and when Legolas realized what it was, he found hot tears springing to his eyes for the first time in many years.

“All is well,” Thorin murmured again in Sindarin, and though his accent was tinted with his natural tongue, the words were still clear. “All is well.”

Beside them, Kili stood, a hand still on Legolas’s shoulder. Legolas leaned into the touch, but found himself unable to let go of Thorin’s tunic. He felt like a young child once more, clinging to Thorin the way he had clung to Thranduil, once. He had been so young, the day he had found a sparrow that had fallen in the forest. He had brought it to his father, begging for his aid, unable to stand the death that had occurred.

Thranduil had knelt and taken the bird with full reverence, then, after handing it off to an attendant nearby, had taken Legolas into his arms. “I don’t understand,” Legolas had said, distraught and so lost. “I don’t _understand_.”

“It is the way of mortal life,” his father had said softly. “It is a loss, a sorrow. One that touches everything, if given the chance. But do not worry: as long as I am here, death shall never touch you, my little one.” And Thranduil had held him until Legolas had felt the last of his tears fall.

He swallowed hard, his eyes burning. He did not often think of Thranduil, and when he did, it was not usually with this feeling of pain. Despair, yes, but it would fade. Loss, too, but that faded in time as well.

This pain felt as if an old wound had been gouged into, deeper than it had been before, and this feeling of loss was almost more than he could bear. He wanted to see his father one more time. He wanted Thranduil to smile and embrace him, as he had when Legolas was a child. He wanted to not yearn for that which he could not have.

Thorin’s soothing hand was so much like his father’s that it left him comforted even while it made him ache all the more. For here was a being who, against everything else, had taken Legolas in as one of his own. Despite the anger between Thranduil and Thorin, Legolas had still been accepted, trusted. Loved. And when Legolas’s kin had abandoned Arda, he had been offered a new home, one within Erebor.

The dwarves of Erebor accepted him. Thorin more than accepted him; he loved Legolas like a son. And Kili was an ever-constant presence, one who had become the other half of Legolas’s very soul. He had kin here, he had family and parts of his heart here. He had a home.

He had lost kin and home, but had found new ones, too. And even now, against their blood-kin, they had stood beside Legolas, defending him with their very breath.

It was this knowledge that let Legolas pull back, finally strong enough to stand without Thorin holding him up. Kili’s grasp immediately tightened, and Thorin let him go, only to search Legolas’s face for…something. Legolas nodded jerkily, still feeling unsettled but stronger in his conviction to remain in the mountain. “Thank you,” he said, wishing he could put in his words the very emotions he felt. His gratitude, his love, his very commitment to always stand beside Thorin and those within the mountain. And Kili. He would always stand beside his husband.

Thorin continued to search, then seemingly found what he was looking for, if his firm nod was any indication. “Whatever Dain wants, he will not get,” Thorin said. “I swear to you. No one insults my kin, not in such an aggravated manner.”

“It’s not as if it is not true,” Legolas pointed out gently, but Thorin glared.

“You are not an orphan, nor are you abandoned. You have a home, and you have kin. If he attempts to say thusly again, I will have him thrown from Erebor.”

“And start a war,” Legolas said.

Thorin did not look as if he would be swayed. Kili also stood firm, looking sterner than Legolas had ever seen him before. “I will not let him disavow your marriage,” Thorin said. “For whatever he wants.”

“He wants a trade established with a marriage-“

“No, there is more to it than that,” Thorin said, shaking his head at Kili’s words. “I know my cousin better than that. As a child, he would often make a ludicrous demand, then offer an easier choice behind it, his true want, and it would be given to him as a compromise. He was very good at it, and always has been. It is a good tact for a ruler to have as a weapon, in times of distress and _true_ negotiation.”

“But a wise ruler will also make demands clear from the outset,” Legolas said. “And he has not done that. It was one of the things I loathed the most about…about my father’s way of ruling.” He still found himself catching on the mere thought of Thranduil. He shook his head when Thorin and Kili gave him concerned looks. “I am well. I simply…am feeling a loss I had not expected to feel. He has been gone thirteen years, and still breathes in the lands of Aman.”

“That doesn’t mean you miss him any less,” Kili said. “Nor would I expect you to.”

Thorin thankfully moved the conversation onward. “No matter what Dain expects to garner here, he will not achieve it. And I will have his true purpose known to me. I will _not_ suffer him to continue on as he has.” He looked every inch the determined ruler that he was, strong and confident and eyes blazing with purpose. It made Legolas glad to know that Thorin was on his side.

Firm footsteps pounded through stone halls, and when Legolas raised his head, expecting to find Dwalin or Dril coming towards them, he was surprised when he found Bilbo instead. If Thorin had been furious, Bilbo was _enraged_ in such a way that Legolas had never seen outside of the battlefield. He was used to the politically polite hobbit when dealing with strangers, the calm, patient, and witty hobbit when with kin. Not this bundle of barely contained fury.

Even Thorin and Kili seemed surprised at Bilbo’s stomping and all but bared teeth. “What did he do?” Thorin asked immediately.

“Tried to continue _reasoning_ , ha!” Bilbo let out a derisive snort. “As if that had been what he’d been doing in the first place. That presumptuous, two-timing, utter…utter _gaelim_ , _horte shaim pocathemenk_ -“

Legolas had been alive for centuries, had crossed every inch of the Greenwood forest, understood the various words that the elves of Arda spoke, knew the difference between the guttural dwarvish tongue and the lilting language of men, and yet had never heard any language that sounded like the one Bilbo was saying. Or, if his tone of voice was any indication, the one he was _cursing_ in.

Thankfully, he didn’t seem to be the only one lost. “Uncle, what on _earth_ are you saying?” Kili said incredulously. Thorin was only staring with wide eyes at his husband, as if he had lost his mind.

Bilbo cut himself off, and, despite still appearing furious, also looked what Legolas could have sworn was _embarrassed_. “What in Mahal’s beard was _that_?” called a voice from ahead, and there was Dwalin, with Tauriel right beside him. Fili stepped out from behind her to meet with Kili and Legolas, but she held back, as if assessing Legolas. He gave a quick nod to her questioning gaze. _I am still here. And I will remain._

She gave a slow nod in return, her own rage diminishing slightly, and then all eyes were back to Bilbo. “I’ve never heard that language before in my life,” Fili said. “What book did you get that from?”

“It’s not…from a book,” Bilbo said, sounding almost hesitant, in spite of the fury still crossing his face. “It’s…it’s Hobbitish.”

For a long, thunderous moment, no one said a thing. Finally Kili dared to speak. “You mean you have a _language_?”

“Of course we have a language!” Bilbo said, scowling at him. “We just rarely use it, especially among anyone that’s not a hobbit! It’s not really a secret language so much as it is a language we just…don’t use all that commonly. But we all know it, down to the smallest child.”

“And you’ve never told me about this?” Thorin said. Though he did not sound hurt, he did sound surprised.

“It wasn’t really a thing to _tell_ ,” Bilbo tried to explain. “Honestly and truly it wasn’t. I didn’t mean to speak in Hobbitish, but I got so mad that it just sort of…came out.”

Dwalin snorted, looking exceedingly amused. Kili barely managed to bite back a grin, and Fili did not even bother trying. Thorin simply smiled at Bilbo who was most certainly looking more embarrassed than furious now. “Oh hush, all of you,” Bilbo muttered, and Legolas felt the tension in the hallway dissipating by the moment.

“I want to hear more Hobbitish,” Kili said. Bilbo scowled at him all the more. “There’s got to be some decent foul language in there, because I _know_ that’s what you just said. So…how do you call someone a dunderhead?”

“Kili,” Bilbo replied promptly, and Kili’s pout left Legolas grinning from ear to ear. “Or Dain, but what I called Dain is nothing I’d ever call you. Not ever.”

“What did you say about him?” Tauriel asked. “Did you insult his gardening skills, curse the soil he would plant in?” Those were the typical insults and curses that Bilbo shared when at his angriest.

“Ah, no. I sort of…insinuated who he, um. Who he would lay with. And it was a greater insult to the pig I referenced.”

_Oh_. “Uncle!” Fili exclaimed, and he seemed happily scandalized. “I never would have thought it from you.”

“Proud of you, laddie,” Dwalin said as he clapped Bilbo on the back. Bilbo’s cheeks went a little redder than before, and he glared at Dwalin. Dwalin did not seem perturbed in the slightest.

Thorin rolled his eyes at them all, but there was a glimmer of a grin on his face all the same. “Where did you leave Dain?” he asked. The group grew somber once more, but it was less than before. Bilbo’s fury and language had left them determined and a force to be reckoned with, a wall between Legolas and Dain, between his marriage and the wants of the Iron Hills. Yes, Legolas had made the right choice in staying.

“In his quarters,” Dwalin said. “Made certain he’d found his way back, him and his advisors, before I took off to find you. Told ‘em someone’d be by to call ‘em to supper.”

“I have a sudden craving,” Bilbo said. His eyes were fierce glints of light, shining like his blade. “I think I’d like a lot of green things for the main course. You don’t think Bombur would mind the switch, so short of notice, do you, husband?”

It was a tactical move, an insult to Dain even as it was an honor towards Legolas, yet it was a silent one that could never be called upon. Thorin’s grin was sharp and dangerous. “I think he would be thrilled to make it, beloved. I will see to it myself.”

“Good.”

“You do not have to,” Legolas felt obliged to point out, but Bilbo shook his head.

“No, we absolutely do. I want Dain as unnerved and uncomfortable as possible. He’s hiding something, I know it.”

Much what Thorin had said. “My cousin has always been good at that,” Thorin agreed. “I concur. A Dain who feels he has more to lose by not speaking directly to us is a more helpful Dain.” He paused, then glanced at Dwalin. “Pull out the longer wooden table, the one used only for great feast days. I want a considerable distance between myself and my cousin.”

“And if we’re asked about why the table is longer than any other, we’ll simply tell them we wanted to honor them by all feasting together as opposed to separate tables,” Fili added. He gave a curt nod. “I like it. I’ll help Dwalin get it into position. The whole family?”

“If you please, Fili.”

“Done. Dernwyn will be ecstatic to join, once I tell her why.” It was not often that the entire royal family feasted together in the dining hall. Most of the time, they ate in smaller groups, sometimes all together in a very informal setting above in the royal main room. They feasted together on celebratory days or special occasions. Dain’s visit should not have been a special occasion.

But this was not for Dain. This was for Legolas, and Kili, for Dernwyn and Fili and their children, for Bilbo and Thorin to make a quiet stand and put Dain as far from Thorin and the royal family as they could.

“I will find the rest of the company,” Tauriel said, after Dwalin and Fili had gone. “I believe they would enjoy feasting with us.” It _was_ a very large table, and they would need to fill the seats.

After Thorin gave her the nod, she turned and left. Then it was just Bilbo, Thorin, Kili, and Legolas alone in the hall, an odd-knit family that, while odd, was still closer than ever before.

“Legolas,” Bilbo called softly, no longer the raging hobbit but the kind and calm influence Legolas knew so well. He did not pause, simply gathered Legolas in his arms, and though he only came a little higher than Legolas’s hips, Legolas had always found Bilbo’s embrace able to keep him warm. He bent over Bilbo as he usually did, wrapping his own arms around Bilbo.

He was not abandoned. He was not orphaned. Long had the thoughts sat in his mind, and Dain had brought them violently to the surface. But he was not any of those things. He had a family of his own making, here in Arda. And he was loved.

When they parted, Bilbo reached up and gently tapped Legolas on the cheek. “I have found, though it is a terrible way to live life, that some of those who are the loneliest often strike out at those who are blessed with company and family. My cousin Lobelia did, for a great long while. Yet her loneliness was only perceived, for as she discovered, she had kin everywhere, and they were kin who loved her.”

“Do you believe Dain is merely lonely?” Legolas asked him.

“I believe he has the worst type of loneliness anyone can have,” Bilbo said, and he pursed his lips. “Affronted solitude. He is alone because part of him wants to be completely and utterly alone, while the other part wants nothing more than to be adored and comforted. That sort of solitude tends to strike out at others, more's the pity. He certainly has a chip on his shoulder, too. He sees himself as Thorin’s shadow, that much is blatantly clear.”

“He always has,” Thorin said, nodding. “Yet it grieves me, for Dain has always had his own strengths. When he was still but a child, he slew the orc that had killed his father. His prowess in battle is great.” He paused, before snorting humorlessly. “Yet great feats in battle do not a good leader make.”

“No,” Legolas agreed. “One must be able to wield a weapon in one hand and shake hands for alliances with the other. And I have never seen a greater balance of that in anyone else except you.” Perhaps Bard, who had come into the throne so reluctantly, afraid of becoming another Master of the town. But Thorin had exemplified the meaning of a good king, waging war not for his own reasons but for his people, for his husband. Yet he could also speak plainly with elves and men, and his friendships and alliances were unmatched across the earth.

Thorin blinked, perhaps for a moment startled at his words. Then he smiled, a smile that made him look both so young and determined, yet so aged and war-torn at once. “Thank you,” he said, his voice rough. Legolas gave a nod and smile in return.

“I think this will be the only time I have ever wanted greens over meat for dinner,” Kili said, breaking the moment. He grinned at Legolas. “But I’m feeling a very keen desire for vegetables.”

Legolas chuckled and shook his head. “Funnily enough, so am I.”

 

Thorin had expected the knock at his door much earlier in the evening. Yet when it came, it was obviously his cousin: the rapid, quick knocks that succeeded one after the other could have been no one else.

He glanced at his husband and found Bilbo setting aside his book. “Ready?” Bilbo asked. He was neither too tense, but neither was he languid and casual. He was simply a firm point that could not be moved, a fire burning in his gaze, and Thorin had never been more proud to be married to this magnificent being before him.

“Ready,” Thorin agreed, and rose to get the door.

Dinner had been…interesting. The long table seemed vaster every time Thorin sat at it, yet it had done its job. With the entire royal family and company, they had swiftly pushed Dain and his entourage to the other side of the table. Any attempts at conversation had been muted and lost over the distance. The company and the royal family had enjoyed each other’s presence, unexpectedly together in a good way. Conversation had flowed easily, the children had been polite but cheerful, and Bombur’s multiple salads _had_ been delicious. Bifur had particularly enjoyed the roasted greens, and had sort of taken the entire bowl as his own.

Dessert had been Bombur’s choice, but when he’d come forward with little berry cakes and baked, candied nuts, Thorin could have embraced him on the spot. Legolas, too, had seemed overwhelmed by Bombur’s silent support, for the berries and nuts were all delicacies of the Greenwood. Too often Bombur’s kind disposition left those around him with the impression that he was merely a cook, though a very good one, and would always smile at everyone.

But Bombur could be just as protective, as viciously defensive, as any of the other dwarves when it came time. He was a sight to behold on the battlefield, and while he did not wield axes or hammers now, he had used the tools available to him to make his strike. And it had been a powerful blow.

Thorin took a breath, then opened the door. Dain stood by himself, devoid of his noble furs. Instead he was dressed more simply, probably in his usual day to day clothes, much as Thorin now was. It left Thorin determined to try and remember that this _was_ his cousin, despite the glaring mistakes he’d made and the insults he’d laid upon Thorin and his heirs and the wedded son that he called his own. Dain was his younger cousin, and Thorin just had to remember that.

Mahal help him if he spoke another word against anyone's marriage or against his elven-son, however.

Dain gave a rueful grin. “I suppose you’ve been waiting for me,” he said. “May I?”

“Please, come in,” Bilbo called, already setting up the table. Though it was late, Bilbo had insisted on tea, with a more hearty fare of bread and cheese than his usual light biscuits. It was a fare for dwarves, mixed with hobbit teas, though Thorin hadn’t failed to notice that the teas tonight were of elvish make. His husband could hold a grudge – particularly against those who swore ill to the ones he loved – like no other, and it made the corners of his lips turn up.

If Dain was dismayed to see Bilbo, he made no outward sign of it, beyond a small hesitation before he entered. “Thank you,” Dain said. His eyes widened slightly in appreciation for the small spread at the table, and Thorin made another mental note to thank Bilbo heartily for his perceptiveness. Despite the offered seats, Dain did not sit, and Thorin also remained standing.

“Would you like some tea?” Bilbo offered when the silence grew too loud. “There’s an arrangement of various herbs and-“

“Other delicious things, courtesy of the elves,” Dain finished, and Bilbo went silent. “Of that I have no doubt, nor do I doubt that they are both healthy and tasteful. As was dinner, though I could not express that to you, given the distance.”

“If I had thought for a moment that you would not continue your diatribe of my kin and their spouses, the length of the table would not have been necessary,” Thorin cut in, tired of the indirectness. “You have never been one to not speak your mind, cousin. Tell me what it is that you truly want.”

Dain pursed his lips. “A private matter, cousin-“

“No. He’ll hear it later, anyway,” Thorin said, before Dain could even verbalize his exclusion of Bilbo. “Spare my voice later and tell the both of us now.”

“How can I when he is-“ And Dain promptly cut himself off. He almost seemed to swallow the words, and Thorin felt his fists clenching until he thought his knuckles would break. Because if Dain actually said what Thorin thought he would say…

“Because he is _what_?” Thorin growled.

Bilbo said nothing, but his mere presence in the room spoke volumes. Dain cleared his throat awkwardly. Thorin slowly moved closer to Bilbo, putting himself between his cousin and his husband. “Speak plainly, Lord Dain,” Thorin said, voice low. “For I grow tired of subtleties and sideways remarks. If you are going to attack me, do it head on.”

“I’m not attacking _you_ ,” Dain insisted.

“If you speak against my kin or my husband, then yes, you are.”

Dain began to pace, hands tight together behind his back. “You don’t understand what’s going on out there,” he said. “You’ve been so wrapped up in your mountain that you have no estimation of the rest of the world.”

“I have allies in Dale, in Rivendell, as far west as the Shire and as east as Gondor. I entertain elves from Lothlorien and riders from Rohan on a regular basis. Do not tell me I have no estimation of the rest of the world.” Moria, too, was theirs once more, and Rangers hailed to Erebor more often than not, even if they had no messages to deliver. Gandalf came and went, as he usually did, and even Radagast had appeared a few years ago, when Denethor had aided in clearing out the Greenwood. Thorin was a king amongst other world leaders, and he knew his place well.

“The rest of _your_ world,” Dain countered, and Thorin frowned. “The dwarven world, Thorin. The dwarves of the Iron Hills, of the Blue Mountains, the few clans that remain in the Northern Hills, if just to name a few. When was the last time you turned your thoughts to them?”

Thorin kept his stance firm, even as his mind whirled. “I have no quarrel with them,” he said, but Dain barked out a laugh.

“You are their king, too-“

“They have their own leaders. I would not think to consider them mine.”

“Erebor is _the_ kingdom of dwarves! We are but clans beneath you. And I’m here to tell you that your clans are not happy.”

“There are other kings,” Bilbo said finally, stepping in when Thorin could not find his voice. “There were once seven dwarf kings, how can Thorin be the last one?”

“Their kingdoms no longer exist,” Dain said. “Not as they once were. I myself could be considered a ‘king’ but the Iron Hills are no longer worthy of being called a kingdom.”

“In your eyes, cousin,” Thorin replied. “In your eyes. The Iron Hills are not lost, if your claims from earlier are true. Do you indeed have mithril? Do you have a way to the sea?”

“Would you recognize me as a king?” Dain asked swiftly, leaving Thorin surprised. “There’s the bigger question.”

Whatever Dain wanted, he still had not spoken it plainly, and he had thrown randomness everywhere until Thorin could no longer remember what answers he needed. “What about the clans and other kingdoms?” he asked.

“They are not kingdoms, not compared to your bounteous mountain.”

Thorin’s frustration was starting to mount into anger. “Dain-“

Dain stopped pacing and faced Thorin directly. “You’ve abandoned the old ways,” he said at last. “You have indirectly threatened your kingdom by leaving those who are not dwarves in line for the throne. We are supposed to be a race unto our own. We are Mahal’s race, the secret race-“

“You cannot be serious,” Thorin cut in, incredulous. Dain met his gaze without any qualms, however, and Thorin shook his head. “There were never any rules that stated we could not marry or mingle outside of our own race. It has been going on for ages, when Dale was first built on our doorstep-“

“For those who could not affect the line of power to the throne!” Dain insisted. “We should keep the line pure!”

Bilbo was a tense line behind him, so much so that Thorin could actually _feel_ it from where he stood. The very fact that he had to stand there and listen to Dain heave insults at him was almost more than Thorin could bear. He fought to breathe and keep his calm. “Where did you get this idea of a ‘pure line’?” Thorin asked slowly. “Even Durin himself took a wife from lands afar.”

“I’m only telling you of the talk I have heard-“

“From who, your advisors?” Bilbo burst out. “The ones who would happily marry _children_ off to grown adults? Or the ones who are so old they can barely hear right anymore?”

“Do not insult my nobility, Halfling,” Dain snapped, and any thoughts of hearing Dain out disappeared in an instant. Thorin stepped forward until he was close enough that Dain had to stumble backwards. The room’s temperature seemed to plummet with each step that Thorin took until he nearly had Dain pressed against the wall.

Only then did he speak, a fire coiling in his stomach. “Do _not_ insult my husband,” Thorin said, voice low. “ _Ever_.”

Dain swallowed. “I’m trying to help you,” he said, almost pleading. “Can’t you understand that? Your own people are going to turn against you-“

“They are not _my people_ ,” Thorin insisted. “I have no ruling over them, and I never have.”

“That doesn’t change their thoughts,” Dain said. “What you do influences them. If you show that you care so little for the throne and the good of your people, how are they to listen to you?”

“Whereas if _you_ were king, with a noble dwarven line behind you, that would be different.”

Bilbo’s voice rang through the chambers, despite not having raised his voice at all. When Dain’s eyes whipped behind Thorin to where Bilbo stood, and his jaw locked, Thorin knew Bilbo had hit the mark. “Is that what you want, Dain?” Thorin asked. “A crown? That’s what a forge is for, not a misguided trip to Erebor with insults and cruel falsehoods.”

Dain flinched a little, his cheeks going red. “What do you need me for?” Thorin continued, trying not to let his bewilderment show. “Why did you seek me out?”

“Because he does need you,” Bilbo said softly, causing Thorin to turn. His husband shook his head, curls and braid swaying with the movement. His eyes were filled with regret when they turned to Dain. Still willing to forgive him, even when they had been raging and vengeful after Legolas and Kili had been targeted. One of these days, Bilbo was going to stop being so forgiving and kind to those who sought to hurt him.

And because Thorin’s mind wasn’t filled with enough chaos already, memories of the three kidnappers, of the youngest thief dying for Bilbo, flooded his thoughts.

When Bilbo spoke again, his voice was almost as heartbreaking as it had been the day the kidnappers had died. “They won’t listen to you if you simply forge a crown and take a throne, will they? They won’t recognize you as a king. They may even denounce you all the more for it, but Thorin, Thorin’s word they would heed. If Thorin recognized you as a king, then maybe, maybe you could rule the Iron Hills. Maybe…maybe your people wouldn’t leave. And you could reach out and control the other clans-“

“They’ve been abandoned, lost,” Dain interrupted. “There’s no one to lead them except for clan leaders and lords and so-called ‘kings’ but they amount to nothing, compared to the King Under the Mountain. Thorin is their king, but he isn’t, all at the same time, and they need a king they can take their grievances to. Everyone needs a king.”

“The Shire has no king,” Bilbo pointed out, almost gently. “We’ve never had a need for one. Perhaps they don’t need a king. Perhaps they simply need a lord.”

It was Bilbo’s quiet way of telling Dain he was good enough, that he didn’t need ties to Erebor or Thorin’s recognition to rule his lands. But Dain shook his head, refusing to acknowledge it. “Dwarves are different than hobbits,” he said, and though there was no insult in his tone, Thorin still tensed anyway. “They recognize royalty above all else.”

“If any of the dwarven settlements ever hold a grievance that their leaders cannot end, they can always come to Erebor,” Thorin said. “I have helped King Bard settle disputes in Dale, I can certainly help kinsmen, no matter where they are.”

Dain gazed at him for a long moment. “So you won’t, then?” he asked, resigned, and Thorin knew what he was referencing.

“My words cannot make you a king. You have to earn your crown, Dain. If you could not rule for any reason, then my words could be hurled back at Erebor, and there would be _no_ kingdom. Speak to your people, earn their trust, then rule wisely. Crowns are easily bought, but the trust of your people is hard won. And the crown is always heavier than you expect it to be.” That had been, perhaps, one of the most difficult things Thorin had ever had to realize. If it had not been for Bilbo beside him, Thorin knew he would not have made it.

After a long silence, Dain finally turned to the door. Thorin wanted to reach out to him, wanted to be able to say the words that his cousin needed. But his desperation to be king…there was nothing Thorin could do for him. And though Bilbo had seemingly allowed Dain to insult him, it wasn’t something Thorin could so easily forgive.

At the door, Dain straightened his back a little. “I will await you tomorrow in the meeting hall,” he said, and with a small nod to Bilbo, he left. Silence reigned once more.

Finally Bilbo sighed and took a seat at the table, where the bread and cheese were untouched. “I’m not certain whether Bombur will be upset that his best bread and favorite cheeses were uneaten, or if he’ll be _pleased_ that they’re still here.”

In spite of everything, Thorin huffed a quiet laugh. “Most likely pleased. He groused about sharing even his salads with them. He was very displeased with what they had to say regarding Fili, Kili, and Legolas.” All of the company had. Dernwyn had been ready to do battle, and Dis had had both battle axes in hand before Thorin had managed to stay them both. What tomorrow would bring, he didn’t know.

“We could always eat it,” Bilbo offered, but he looked as inclined to eat as Thorin did.

Thorin shook his head and moved to stand behind Bilbo. Hands found shoulders and gently began to rub away the tension. Bilbo moaned and sank his head back against Thorin’s stomach. “It should be me doing this to you,” he said. “You’re far tenser than I am.”

“It wasn’t me who was being essentially blamed for the fall of the throne,” Thorin said, and he forced himself to keep his hands light. The very thought of what Dain had implied left him clenching his fists. As if any of those who had married into the royal family had done it a disservice. Without any single one of them, especially Bilbo, Erebor would no longer be standing. Bilbo had more right to be there than Dain did.

“Ow,” Bilbo complained when Thorin’s hands went too tight, and Thorin pressed a kiss to the top of his head as an apology. “You definitely need a massage more than I do.”

“I am more content here, with you,” Thorin assured him. And he was. The memories of the kidnapping had left a sour taste in his mouth, and Dain’s insistence of a ‘pure line’ only made him think of Dekir and Rutar.

There were no ‘old ways’. There were simply ways that Dain’s advisors thought things should go and the way things were currently going. And whenever someone did not get their way, strife followed close behind.

Bilbo turned and kissed the inside of his wrist, banishing all of Thorin’s thoughts until they were only for the hobbit in front of him. “To bed with you,” Bilbo said. “And we’ll keep the hearth low. The heat outside is staggering during the day, but the nights? Not so much.”

“Does the cold still bother you?” Thorin asked, frowning. He glanced at Bilbo’s ankle, unable to help himself, and Bilbo rose without any issue whatsoever.

“From time to time, but that’s to be expected with the ankle. I’m fine. I just don’t like being cold, that’s all.”

“Then we won’t let you be cold,” Thorin said. He stole a kiss, then another, and then another, and Bilbo chuckled all the way to the bed.

And when Thorin could not sleep, thoughts of the clans and memories from dark days past whirling about his head, Bilbo curled up closer and pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose. “Sleep, you’ll have all day tomorrow to worry,” he murmured, and Thorin finally closed his eyes and slept.

 

Dis was not having a good day.

Perhaps it had something to do with the way she’d been awakened, with Kili knocking on her door, all but pleading that she be at the meeting in a short hour. Or the way Bombur had been grousing at breakfast about the dwarves who’d dared to imply his salads weren’t delicious, and if they’d wanted meat, they shouldn’t have insulted Erebor’s elves.

Or maybe it was the way that Thorin had forbidden her from bringing her axe to the meeting. It might not have made the envoy from the Iron Hills feel particularly comfortable, but she would’ve been happier. And they didn’t deserve to be comfortable. Not after what they’d implied. Not after what Dain had said.

Thorin had pulled her aside while she’d eaten breakfast and quietly filled her, Dwalin, and Fili in on what Dain had brought to him the night before. Dwalin had gotten rightfully furious when Dain’s comments about Bilbo had come to light – one did not offer insult to one’s kin, and Bilbo was Dwalin’s brother now, there was no two ways about it – and Fili had tightened his fists at the implication of his wife and children not being ‘pure’ enough to take the throne.

And Dis? Dis had been ready to slaughter. She remembered Dain very vaguely from her childhood, and she remembered a cheery child who’d babbled after Thorin and competed with her and Frerin for his attention. When Thorin hadn’t been there, they’d gotten along very well. It was hard to reconcile the cheerful and kind, wily and smart dwarf that she’d known with the one who was trying to all but _sell_ her married children to another.

Not if she had anything to say about it.

Dain sat up straighter in his chair once they were all seated, and if he was chagrined to see Bilbo there, he made no mention of it. Thorin hadn’t exactly been pleased that Bilbo had come along, wanting to keep his husband as far from Dain and his daftness as best he could, but Fili had had the right of it: without Bilbo there, it would look like a step backwards and would lend more credence to Bilbo not being as powerful as Thorin. Sometimes, Dis thought as she watched Fili settle next to Kili and Gimli, her sons could be far wiser than they initially seemed.

Tauriel and Legolas were once again along the wall, to leave more room for the dwarves at the table, but this time Dwalin stood stoutly beside Legolas instead of by the door, and Dril stood beside Tauriel. Three guards in total to stand by the elven prince, and two dwarves to stand beside the elves. Good. With all of them there, they now outnumbered the entourage from the Iron Hills, and though it went unspoken, the power truly felt as if it had shifted from Dain back to Thorin.

Thorin brought his hands up, fingertips resting against fingertips, forming a mountain shape: Dain would be allowed voice first. His advisors seemed pleased at that, but Dain looked graver than before. As he should: he knew far too well that it wasn’t Thorin giving a nod of power to Dain, but rather giving Dain the chance to clear his name or hang himself. Dis sat to Bilbo’s right, only her hobbit brother sitting between her and Thorin. A nonsensical nod to her status, but now that she could feel the tension in the room, she was glad that Thorin had insisted on protocol.

After what felt like months, Dain finally spoke. “I understand that yesterday was not what any of us had hoped it to be. Therefore, I come before you with the hope of reconciliation between our two groups. I still hope to marry my daughter to the Line of Durin, if but for her future and the future of her people. But I recognize that your heirs are currently wedded.”

“And will be for some time, you _peilig_ ,” Bilbo muttered under his breath. Dis felt her lips twitch up despite herself, and coughed discretely to hide it. Dwalin snorted from behind her, and the eyes of her sons danced in amusement.

It still amazed her that Bilbo had somehow managed to keep hidden the _entire language_ of his people for thirteen years, yet couldn’t seem to stop cursing in it now. And strong curses, too, apparently. She was a tad put out that she’d missed the one about sleeping with pigs. She would’ve liked to have learned that one. The best part of learning another language was to hold an arsenal of curses in one's repertoire. It'd been the first thing she'd insisted on learning from Tauriel and Legolas, when they'd asked if she wanted to learn Sindarin.

Thorin still did not speak, so after a pause, Dain continued. “Would you be amenable to a marriage between my daughter of the Iron Hills and some nobility, perchance even royalty, here in Erebor?”

“It needn’t be immediately,” one of the dwarves said. Bilbo immediately scowled at him. A repeat offender, then. “Long enough that one of the younger-“

“No,” Bilbo said immediately.

The dwarf scowled at having been cut off. “Children _do_ grow up-“

“ _No_ ,” came the chorus from Bilbo, Fili, Kili, and Dis. When the dwarf turned to her, she leveled her gaze at him with the most fiery glare she commanded, and watched in satisfaction as he shrank back in his chair. _No one_ messed with her grandchildren. No one.

“Some other nobility, perhaps,” said another dwarf in an attempt at peace. “Perhaps a cousin. Why, Gimli who sits right here-“

“No,” Tauriel said immediately, and all eyes swung to her. She kept her face blank, but Dis knew her well enough to spot the two small spots of red on her cheeks. “Gimli is…tied to the protection of not just Erebor, but a neighboring kingdom as well. It would be an ill fit and offer your daughter no companionship.”

Gimli looked just as confused as everyone else did. Tauriel leveled her gaze at the wall beyond the table, and the tips of her ears were now a vibrant red. Dis swung her gaze back and kept her face as credible as possible. Negating what Tauriel had said would do them no good, and Dis certainly agreed about not throwing Gimli to the wolves.

Beside her, Bilbo coughed slightly, and when Dis stole a glance at him, he was hiding a knowing smirk. Fili, too, looked equally amused from across the table, and Dis was at least gratified to see that no one else understood Tauriel’s brief interruption, including Thorin.

“As you can see, Gimli would be an ill fit,” Fili said, turning his amusement into a polite smile for Dain. “Perhaps another nobility?”

Dain was beginning to look annoyed. “Is my daughter an ill fit altogether?” he asked. “I can assure you that per the laws of our people, arranging a blind marriage is not an unheard of thing-“

“How old is your daughter, Dain?” Thorin asked quietly, and the room went silent as the king finally spoke.

Dain paused. “Seventy-one,” he finally said. “She’s of age.”

Just barely. She was only barely old enough to have decided a craft or profession, to begin gazing at the world around her through the eyes of a capable adult. Dwarves of that age hardly knew who they themselves were. Dis had not begun courting her late husband until she was in her nineties, and she had been considered young to do so. She knew of others who had been younger, obviously. Some knew their heart’s longing before they were of age, and were wedded soon after they were able to. But to force a woman who was barely grown to wed one whom she did not know, in a place that was foreign, all for the sake of her father’s wants-

She wondered what Dain’s wife had to say about it. She wondered if Dain cared at all.

Then she reminded herself that this wasn’t about Dain’s daughter at all, that he had shown his true hand and made his intentions clear. He wanted a crown, and he wanted recognition.

Thorin stared Dain down until Dain looked away. “By the laws of _our_ people, her marriage will raise her entire family to a higher standing,” he said, and Dis realized Thorin had already figured it all out. Dain’s angle in all of it, the reason his daughter was a pawn. And she knew now, just as Dain did, if the slumping of his shoulders was any indication, that Thorin’s knowledge of the law would serve Dain ill.

She still waited with breath held for his words.

Thorin finally brought his hands apart to gently rest them on the table. A king declaring his ruling. “But it does not say anywhere that it will grant royalty to the rest of the family, even if your daughter married into a crown.”

“No, but-“

“Dain, I cannot help you,” Thorin said. It was a sign of how far Thorin had come that he was answering Dain now with an almost gentle nature. There was still a fire burning in his eyes, but he was tempering his anger at Dain’s previous treatment of both Bilbo and Legolas. Dis had a feeling that Bilbo was responsible for his current attitude with Dain.

She also had a feeling that her hobbit brother had had not a care for how Dain had treated him, even if he’d been willing to rain pigs down on Dain for what he’d said to Legolas. He really needed to stop sympathizing and allowing enemies any kindness.

Dain looked lost. “You aren’t even trying,” one of the dwarves accused. “You do not care for the plight of the other dwarves that do not reside within your mountain!”

“I am not their leader,” Thorin said firmly. “If they come with a discrepancy that their leader cannot handle, I _will_ aid them, and if they ever have need of food or gold, they are welcome to come-“

“And how would they know that?” another dwarf demanded. “You know how terrible the Blue Mountains are, and they’ve not improved since! Destitute and full of poverty, barely getting by-“

“And you’ve Moria now!” still another dwarf cried out. “You have more than just your mountain to think of!”

The table descended into chaos. Fili rose and began throwing his voice in, and Kili, closer to the other dwarves, also began trying to reason with the entourage. Gimli and Dwalin shouted at the other dwarves, and were eagerly met with other shouts. Dain didn’t say a word, simply glared at Thorin, and Thorin…

Thorin looked as if he’d aged overnight. He still sat straight in his chair, regal and formidable, but his face had fallen, and there was a resignation there of what would come, of what he was being told. Dis had no truths to tell him, no way to know if the clans truly needed aid or if there was anything they could do. She knew the Blue Mountains were less wealthy than other kingdoms and settlements, but they had raised her boys well enough there, and if there were an easy way to offer a greater wealth to Ered Luin, it would be given without pause, no matter how some of the other dwarves had felt about Thorin arriving in the Blue Mountains over a hundred years ago. Probably still felt, knowing how long dwarven memories were.

But the distance between Erebor and any of the other kingdoms and clans, except for the Iron Hills, was too great for them to offer proper aid. Yet here Thorin sat, the clamor of the room belting him in the face as much as the accusations were, and Dis watched in dismay as he let it sink within him and drag him down. Dain continued to glare, as if blaming _Thorin_ for this mess, and that was _enough_. She put her hands on the table to push herself to her feet, but she was beat to it by someone else.

“ _Enough_!”

It was not Bilbo, who had also been in the middle of standing, who brought sudden silence to the room. No, it was Legolas, who moved to the table and stood beside Thorin, glaring right back at Dain. “You said you came for peace, to negotiate, yet all you have brought is strife and unwarranted ills,” Legolas said. “You have done your own kin a disservice in order to make a personal gain, and when you cannot have what you desired, you have lashed out like a child.”

One of the other dwarves was going purple. “How _dare_ you-“

“I know your actions,” Legolas said, speaking well above the other dwarf. He pinned Dain with his sharp gaze. “Because I watched the Elven-King, my father, do the exact same thing.”

The dwarves stopped. Legolas, however, was not finished. “Thranduil, once one of the greatest elves of Arda, turned to ruin when the darkness came to our Greenwood, twisting his heart as much as it did the tree limbs of the forest. It was not the darkness that lost my father the trust and respect of his people, of his own child, but his actions. I have long forgiven him for what he did and said. But the truth remains: it was he who acted rashly and for personal gain and lost everything he held dear in the meanwhile. He thankfully left Arda before the darkness could fully take his mind.”

If anyone had dropped so much as a delicate hair pin, it would have been heard. Dis gazed at her wedded son with pride. Kili looked fit to burst, his admiration for his husband burning in his eyes.

Legolas finally took a breath and let his anger fade. “It has taken us years to come close to regaining the Greenwood, after it fell into Mirkwood. But while the damage done by the darkness, and thus by Thranduil’s hand, may be healed, his actions will never be forgotten.” Pain flashed across his face. “Forgiven, perhaps. But never forgotten. And as a child of one who strove for blind ambition and personal gain, I can assure you that trust, after being so easily discarded, is hard to win back.”

If Legolas had loosed an arrow into Dain’s heart, it still would not have caused as much pain to him as the quiet and careful words. Dain’s face was white as a sheet, and Dis knew his heart had to be somewhere around his knees. Legolas did not smirk or look cheered by his own words. His face was carefully blank, but knowing her elf son as she did, Dis was certain he, too, was feeling sympathy for Dain.

She needed to speak with Bilbo and Legolas both about that troublesome habit.

Thorin stood at long last, and all eyes turned to him. “I will personally reach out to the clans and assure that they are content, that they do not need aid, and that they can come to Erebor for anything. If they wish to unite under Erebor, that will be a talk for another day. I am glad you have brought this problem before me, but I will reiterate: I cannot give you a crown, Dain. No king can crown another, nor should they. A king lives by his people, is crowned before his people, and must rule for their benefit. I cannot do this for you.”

After a long pause, one of the advisors finally rose to his feet. “Then, your majesty, it seems we are done,” he said, and the rest of the entourage gave a final bow to Thorin before leaving. Dain was the last to go, and Dis was dismayed to see a fire burning in his eyes, even now, when all they had offered was peace.

“Cousin,” Thorin began, and Dain shook his head.

“We are not kin, you and I. You have a new family. And it seems the necessity of comforting them rules above helping me.” Then he was gone, the door quietly shutting behind him.

Thorin hung his head and braced himself on the table. Bilbo pushed his chair back and immediately wrapped his arms around Thorin, holding on to him so tightly that his knuckles went white. Legolas wrapped an arm around Thorin’s shoulders, looking distressed.

One by one the others came close, pressing a hand to Thorin’s shoulder, resting a hand upon his back. Any sign of physical comfort they could offer to him as he silently grieved. It had been through no fault of his own: in fact, given how Dain had insulted Thorin’s husband and his nephew’s husband, Thorin had been far more lenient and patient than he should have been. But it was little consolation now when Dain had torn asunder the bond of family.

Finally Thorin raised his head. His eyes were red but dry, and there were more prominent lines stretching across his face. Dis took his hand and squeezed it, and he glanced at her, grateful for her support. _Always, brother,_ she promised. _You will always have my hand to hold._

He moved his gaze from her to Bilbo, who still stood pressed against him. Their conversation was silent, as so many of their conversations were, but in the end, it left Thorin smiling and Bilbo leaning up just enough to press a kiss to his cheek. Good.

“Thank you,” Thorin said finally, glancing at all of them. “I owe you all more gratitude than I can convey.” He looked up at Legolas with a broadening smile. “Most of all you.”

“Someone told me that all is well,” Legolas said. “It was my duty to ensure that those words remained true.”

“Saps, the lot of you,” Dwalin muttered, and he only grinned when Bilbo smacked his arm with a scowl. It got Thorin to huff a laugh, however, and somehow, Dis finally remembered how to take a deep breath.

All would be well.


	3. Mended

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The days and months following Dain's departure allow for some good things to shine through, some obvious, some unexpected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented; your words mean a lot to me.
> 
> AND. I have something beautiful to share!! Cronesdistaff made the most beautiful image for my fic "i will shelter your heart from the storm" so go look! [Hearts Tree](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1125248/chapters/2268375) <3
> 
> It's been a stressful week, worrying about husband's surgery - which happened this morning and went well - so now I'm sort of dead. Apologies for the length of time in replying to y'all, and thank you for continuing to be awesome.
> 
> There are more fics to come later in this 'verse, but I have other things I need to finish up before the next one can be posted. So there may be a bit of time between this one and the next one.
> 
> And as always, don't read the end notes unless you want to spoil the chapter. Which you don't want to do.

It was only after the caravan had left that Fili was able to corner Tauriel. Since Dain’s firm dismissal of Thorin left an awkward future of their discussing things, Fili had taken it upon himself to deal with Dain and his entourage until they left. He’d managed to speak with one of the more reasonable dwarves, Raldok, about a potential for trade. It was a very weak agreement, with only Raldok on his side, but it was still an in. Raldok had no trouble with Erebor or Thorin, which had made the agreement easier. And Fili had been willing to do anything to see something positive come out of the visit.

It had taken all of his willpower to not run Dain through, given how he’d treated Bilbo and all but denounced his brother’s marriage. And it wasn’t even going to discuss what he’d essentially called Fili’s own marriage with Dernwyn.

But even he couldn't have denied the wistfulness that had stayed in Dain's eyes as he'd gazed backwards to where Thorin should have been, in order to see them off. There had been regret there, too, before pride had shuttered it behind his gaze. For a moment, he'd looked so much like Thorin as he had been, stubborn to a fault and falsely determined, that Fili's heart had twisted in his chest for his distant cousin.

But they were gone now, thanks to his careful political prowess, and war wasn’t going to be waged between them. Not yet, at least. Dain had no true reason to wage war on Erebor, and Thorin wouldn’t even so much as look at the Iron Hills anytime soon. Not until Dain had calmed down and actually started trying to be reasonable.

Which meant that Fili had time on his hands. Time with which to corner a particular elf about something _very_ interesting.

He found her just taking a seat in the royal main room, Dernwyn also moving to sit across from her and discussing, from the sound of it, the merits of a flat blade against a thick sculpted one. His hobbit uncle was brewing tea, and his other uncle was seated at the table, writing his letters. One to every clan, and one longer one to the Blue Mountains. No one was particularly busy, then, and all the other chairs, including the two large ones in front of the hearth, were empty. Good.

“So, Tauriel,” Fili said as way of greeting, and it wasn’t really fair that both Tauriel and Dernwyn suddenly looked suspicious of him. “How have you been?”

“What do you want?” Dernwyn asked, crossing her arms. “And don’t give me that. I know your face well enough to know that this one says you’re up to something. What is it?”

It was hard when one’s wife knew one so very well. “I just wanted to thank Tauriel,” he said. “For saving Gimli from a marriage worse than death.”

Tauriel went so still Fili wasn’t certain she was breathing. Dernwyn swung over to stare at the elf, and Fili watched as two red spots appeared on Tauriel’s cheeks, moving slowly up to the tips of her ears. She remained still, however, and calm as could be. “It is obvious that Gimli cannot marry one from the Iron Hills,” Tauriel said stiffly. “His duty is here in Erebor, and to the Greenwood.”

“He could always travel,” Fili pointed out.

Tauriel pursed her lips. “No he couldn’t. His duty is to his kin and the people of Erebor.”

“Oh for Eru’s sake,” Bilbo exclaimed from behind them, making them all turn. “Just _tell_ him, Tauriel.”

“Tell Fili what?” Thorin asked, perplexed.

“Not Fili,” Bilbo said, “Gimli. She needs to tell Gimli.”

“Tell him what?” Dernwyn asked, a split second before she got it. “Oh. _Oh_.”

“Why am I always the last to find out about something?” Thorin asked resignedly. He set his inked feather down and sighed. “Tell Gimli what?”

Fili glanced at Tauriel. Tauriel looked even redder than before, but that could also have been because she was glaring at Fili with every fiber of her being. “I will _not_ ,” she said hotly. “There is nothing for him to know.”

“Tauriel,” he began, and she rose to her feet, fingers clenched beside her.

“There is nothing to tell him, at all. I helped a friend in need of aid, that is _all_.” And she marched to the doors, her ears still bright red. Fili began to speak, but it was Bilbo who managed to stop Tauriel in her tracks.

“Why won’t you tell him you love him?”

Thorin’s eyes widened. Bilbo was the very image of patience, hands folded together in front of him, eyes calm and kind. Tauriel had frozen in front of them all, and Fili watched with interest as her fingers twitched. Apparently elf maidens didn’t do well when called on their hidden love.

Well. At least this one didn’t. Not that Fili had expected anything less from Tauriel, not really, not when the truth had finally come out. He wouldn’t have even tried teasing it out of her except Tauriel had all but _told_ them during the last meeting. It had sort of been hard to ignore after that.

“Tauriel,” Bilbo called softly, “it's obvious that you care for him more than just as a friend-”

She spun around to face him, lips pursed and eyes blazing. Yet when she spoke, her voice was barely more than a whisper, a pained breath. “I cannot. Gimli has dreams, dreams that do not include me. He has made mention of the family he would build, one I could never give him. And he has…spoken of another already. No. I would not dare tell him.” She met Fili’s eyes next, pleading. “Do _not_ speak of this to him,” she said, her rough whisper once again in disagreement with her eyes. “That is what I would ask of you.”

“None of us would dream of it,” Bilbo assured her. “But I really think you should tell him.”

“I am content,” she said, shaking her head. “I am his friend. He need not know that I care any more than that. And that is where I will leave it.” Then she turned and left, and the room fell silent.

Dernwyn was the first to speak. “I cannot believe you actually _called_ her on it, Bilbo.”

“I have to admit, I’m also a bit startled, Uncle,” Fili said. “I was expecting to poke at her until she confessed, but I never would have actually _said_ it.” Dernwyn scowled at him and reached out to pinch him in the side.

Bilbo let out a sigh. “Because she never would have admitted it otherwise, and I am _sick_ of watching both sides of it.”

Both sides?

“Gimli,” Bilbo said, as if to explain himself, and then there was a rustle from one of the larger chairs facing the hearth. Slowly a red beard emerged, and Gimli sat forward from where he’d been tucked away, eyes wide. Fili stared, stunned.

Bilbo gave the younger dwarf a look. “If you don’t go and talk to her-“

Gimli was off like a swift arrow, hurrying out the door and after her. The room transcended silence at this point, with all of them staring at Bilbo in shock.

“He was here before you were,” Bilbo pointed out, almost defensively. “We’d been having a very nice chat, and then he nodded off for a bit. Then Thorin came in, and you all came in right after that. And frankly, I am done with those two circling one another and nothing coming of it. They are wasting time that could be spent together. And since neither of them was going to say anything, I figured I would simply…nudge them along.”

Thorin stared at him. “You are the most insufferable hobbit,” he finally said, narrowing his gaze. Bilbo narrowed his gaze right back. “Why you play matchmaker-“

“It worked for Dwalin and Ori,” Bilbo said firmly. “And all I’ve done is _nudge_.”

“Then remind me to never be _shoved_ by you,” Fili muttered. Bilbo looked about ready to do just that, but just then, Hildili came into the room with a frown on her face.

“Mama? How come Tauriel and Gimli are touching noses?”

Bilbo’s triumphant grin would’ve been more painful to bear if Fili hadn’t wanted the exact same outcome. It wasn't exactly a declaration of true love, but by Mahal at least they'd _acknowledged_ it. “Because they hold each other very dear,” Fili said, sweeping down and hauling his daughter into his arms. Lili giggled and clung to him, and Fili glanced over at his wife. “Almost as dear as I hold your mother.”

“Sap,” Dernwyn accused, but her eyes and smile betrayed her. Thorin was still muttering, but when Bilbo brought him tea, he took the moment to press a kiss to the inside of Bilbo’s wrist. Bilbo smiled at him, even though his cheeks went a bit pink.

“Can I tell Kee?” Fili asked, and wasn’t even surprised when he was met with a resounding, “ _No_.”

His brother would figure it out.

 

Gimli brushed his nose against Tauriel’s again, her hands still warm in his. Her words were still warm in his heart. “I should’ve said somethin’ to ye sooner,” he confessed. “I thought I was hintin’ the right way.”

“Your idea of ‘hinting’ leaves much to be desired,” Tauriel said dryly, but she didn’t pull away. “You told me you had another-“

“ _Thought_ of another,” Gimli corrected.

“And that you wanted a family-“

“I thought that’s what ye wanted. I thought if I told ye that, ye’d think us more than friends, compatible.”

“I hunt with you on a regular basis and endure your endless conviction that dwarves can climb trees. I also did not take your head off when you came bursting around the corner, telling me you also held affection for me. Is that not compatible enough?”

The twinkle in her eyes made him grin. Mahal, was she always going to be this stubborn?

He hoped so.

“I should’ve told ye,” he said again. “Ye deserved to know.”

“I could have told you,” she countered just as easily. “I just…” And she went silent.

Gimli shook his head. “The reason ye didn’t is because ye thought I had another.” And hadn’t that nearly ruined everything. Sometimes, he was fairly certain his ma and da were right: he didn’t have a head about his shoulders, just a rock. Then they typically blamed his uncle for dropping him on his head.

Tauriel wound her fingers carefully around his, her long slender fingers sliding neatly between his larger ones. Both had calluses, his from axes, hers from bow strings and arrows. They fit well together, he thought.

“I cannot give you a family.”

He gazed up into her face from where her forehead leaned against his. She looked pained but resolute. “Not because I am barren, but because I have no desire to raise a child. I do not think I ever will. So if it is a family you seek in later years-“

“Oh thank Mahal,” Gimli breathed out in a sigh of relief. Tauriel paused, frowning. “I mentioned it because I thought it was what ye wanted. Never would’ve brought it up otherwise. I’ve no inclination towards raisin’ young. Not that I don’t love the wee ones, I do, and I would’ve proudly raised any I might've had. But given a choice, I’d rather run free. Just the two of us.”

Slowly Tauriel began to smile, and there was such a light in her eyes that Gimli knew he would never find in any gem. It made him think of the stars above. “I would like that,” she said softly. “I would like that a great deal.”

He brushed his nose against hers again, just to see her smile broaden, and he sighed contentedly. He’d hoped, when she’d spoken against his marrying Dain’s girl, that it had meant something more. And he’d been right.

“You know that Hildili has gone to tell the others that she saw us,” Tauriel mused. “I heard her footsteps quickly disappear not long ago.”

“Eh, let ‘er. They already all know, I’d stake my axe on it.” And as long as he had her, he didn’t much mind.

Besides, if any of them tried to tease him, he had a feeling she’d launch a pretty arrow in their direction. His fierce, stubborn elf.

His smile grew.

And when the others did find out, all it took was one stern look from the red-haired elf of Erebor to keep the others at bay. Though, as it turned out, not a single dwarf, hobbit, or elf in all of Erebor was truly surprised, when they sat and thought about it.

The dwarves in the Iron Hills were kept in the dark about it, which everyone agreed was a very wise thing to do.

 

When Bilbo finally found his husband, he was tucked away in their room, sprawled in front of the hearth. He looked empty and tired, eyes glued to the dancing flames in front of him. In his hand was a long parchment, and Bilbo winced. The letter from the Iron Hills, four months after Dain’s departure.

Well, that was enough of that. “I do not want tea,” Thorin warned as Bilbo came closer.

“Of course you don’t. I think a stiff brandy would be better, actually.”

Thorin managed a quick grin. “This, this is why I married you.” Even his words sounded slurred from exhaustion.

Bilbo pretended to look appalled. “What, not for my heroics? Not for my _dashing_ good looks?” He batted his eyelashes, startling Thorin into a sudden laugh. Bilbo stepped closer until he was right in front of Thorin, his back to the warm fire. “Hmm? None of that? Just my ability to fetch a drink?”

Thorin tugged him closer with his free hand, his grin fading into a gentle smile. “This,” he said softly. He laid his hand over Bilbo’s beating heart. “This is why I took your hand in mine thirteen years ago.” Then he sighed and let his head rest against Bilbo’s, leaning into it as if he couldn’t hold it up himself. “I could not do this without you,” he murmured.

Bilbo took his own free hand and brushed errant strands of hair from Thorin’s face. “We hold each other up,” he said. “And I quite like it that way. Which is why I’ll take that letter from you, if you please.”

Thorin handed it to him without hesitation, and Bilbo tossed it behind him into the flames. Thorin didn’t even look sorry about it. “I should have saved that,” he said, but it wasn’t a protest in the slightest.

“Did it say exactly what we expected it to say?”

“It did.”

“Then we don’t need to keep it.”

Slowly Thorin’s lips began to turn up. He didn’t offer any thanks, and Bilbo didn’t need any. He did take Thorin’s now empty hand in his, and they held tight to one another for a bit. It let Thorin relax for what looked like the first time in months, and when he finally sat up a little straighter, he wasn’t the aged king anymore, but his husband, whose eyes were vibrant and alive once more. It took years off of him, years he hadn’t deserved, and Bilbo was glad to see it.

It made the next part even better. “How about you read something far better?” he asked, and he pulled his other hand out from behind his back, where he’d kept the parchments hidden. He handed them over nonchalantly, and Thorin took them, though he looked perplexed. “They’re letters,” Bilbo said. When Thorin continued to look confused, Bilbo couldn’t help but add, “They’re things people have written for reading purposes. See the little symbols there? Those are words-“

“Cheeky,” Thorin muttered, giving him a half-hearted glare and a poke in the side for his trouble. Thorin’s lips were still curling up, however, and that was all Bilbo had wanted. He settled himself on the arm of the chair beside his husband and watched as he began reading them over.

It was a glorious moment, when Thorin finally began to comprehend just what he was reading. “Very polite, the clans are,” Bilbo said casually. “Very graciously accepting any help Erebor may bring to them. Very kind to offer their own aid, if _we_ ever need it.”

Thorin slowly glanced up at Bilbo. Taking pity on him, Bilbo leaned forward and said quietly, “They don’t want to be under your rule, just like you said. But they _would_ like to be allies or, as one of the clans so neatly put it, ‘kin across the earth and under stone’. I thought that was quite poetic. I think Ori’s going to steal the line for his next book.” Ori was constantly stealing lines and phrases from everyone, when he thought they were clever enough. Dwalin loved it. Nori encouraged it, content that his brother was at least finally ‘stealing something’. Dori applauded him for his works and typically ignored Nori.

It seemed that Thorin was past words that evening, for he could only look at the letters in his hand with wearied relief and gratitude. He sorted through them all, probably making a token list in his head of which clans had replied, but as far as Bilbo knew, all of them had returned a response of generosity and kindness, sending their own thanks and offering help where they could. Two in the Northern Hills had mentioned trading, both with talents and with the stones that Erebor might not have.

Then the last letter rolled out, far longer than the others, and Thorin paused. Bilbo carefully waited until his husband had read it over, then waited as he read it over again. When Thorin began folding it up, he finally spoke. “It was far more than Dis had expected to get from them. But she seemed very pleased with what Ered Luin had to say.”

“Does everyone get my mail before I do?” Thorin asked, but his smile was genuine and held no trace of worry. Relieved, Bilbo pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Only when it’s the important mail. The other stuff you can have first.”

“You’re too kind,” Thorin drawled. Then he turned back to the letters with a sigh. “I need to make my replies.”

“You need to speak to the Council first with a few of them, but I hardly doubt that you’ll get any resistance. Nadr and Valdr in particular will be proud supporters if you decide to reach back to Ered Luin, given that they were from the Blue Mountains, or so I’ve heard.” Not just a trade system, but a trade route had been offered, now that Moria was a resting point between the Blue Mountains and Erebor. That would take far more time than just a simple letter.

“They were. They were one of the families who welcomed the Ereborians as best they could.”

Ah. That explained quite a bit, actually. “Maybe let them help run point on this one, then, with Fili’s help and your voice? Keep you from getting circles under your eyes?”

Thorin huffed a laugh and pulled Bilbo straight into his lap, ignoring the letters that were tossed to the side. “Thank you,” he murmured. He pressed his forehead against Bilbo’s, and Bilbo closed his eyes and shared breaths with his husband.

With a trade route formed with the Blue Mountains, no matter how prickly some of the dwarves were over there, or how certain dwarves were probably still unhappy with Thorin, the Iron Hills and Dain could become a distant bad memory. And when it did pop up, Bilbo would ensure that Thorin was kept safe and loved and as far from his cousin as he could. Thorin had carried him through the disaster that had been the kidnapping. It was time for Bilbo to carry Thorin.

And he wouldn’t falter. Not with the person he held the dearest depending on him.

Bilbo took a deep breath and thought of the future, their future, and finally smiled.

_Finis_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, finally, a touch of the Tauriel/Gimli comes out. I've emphasized a lot of different relationship types in my fics, and this one is probably more akin to the type of relationship that Legolas and Gimli canonically shared. They absolutely loved and adored each other. Come on: you don't spend the rest of your life with someone, wandering the earth and sharing every day together, if you don't. They might not have been smexin' in Tolkien's mind, but there was no doubt that they did, indeed, love each other. Maybe not the IN love we as shippers hope for, but that's all right. That's what fanfic's for.
> 
> With Tauriel, I wanted to add a bit of romance to it. They hold each other dear, and their love is very slow growing but will continue to grow until it blooms like a wild flower.
> 
> And that's me done with being sappy and poetic at the moment.


End file.
